


The Good Friend

by Corbeaun



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:10:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corbeaun/pseuds/Corbeaun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything can be fixed, but this time Waya Yoshitaka tries to be the good friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Flonnebonne in the Fifthmus holiday fic exchange, [here](http://community.livejournal.com/fifthmus/18187.html).

The phone rang and Yoshitaka groaned as he rolled across the _tatami_ to pick it up. " _Moshi moshi_ ," he said blearily as he glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning. Who was calling this early?

"Sorry to wake you, Waya." The voice on the other end sounded gently amused. "Late night?"

"Isumi?"

An abashed laugh. "Sorry," Isumi said again. "I shouldn't have let either of you drink that much. I didn't realize how stubborn the two of you were."

"Oh god," Yoshitaka flopped back on his futon. "That little monster." He felt a resurgence of nausea just thinking about how much beer they'd put away.

Another soft laugh. "Speaking of Le Ping, where is he? Still asleep?"

" _God_ no. Was up bright as a chipmunk a few hours ago." Yoshitaka resented the injustice of it: he was pretty sure the little brat had matched him bottle for bottle; that the brat had woken up with apparently little or no ill effects...Yoshitaka was sure the last time he'd been this infuriated, he'd lost a bet to Shindo and had had to eat ramen for a week.

Isumi sounded concerned. "A few hours ago? Waya, he doesn't know Tokyo --"

"He's probably still in line for the communal bath," Yoshitaka said, and then abruptly grinned, "Unless the little old lady from 4B has cornered him, in which case I make no promises."

But Isumi didn't sound comforted. "Can you check on him, please?"

He sighed, kicked the blankets off his legs and got up. "Yeah, yeah. Geez. You realize you worry too much?"

"It would be really bad form to lose him," Isumi said, apparently having stopped worrying long enough to apply his characteristic dry humor.

"I wish," he muttered.

There was silence over the phone as he got dressed. Then, "Waya?"

"What?" he asked absently, pinning the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he rummaged through the laundry basket for a pair of relatively clean socks.

"If Le Ping bothers you that much, I'll call him a hotel." And then as if that wasn't clear enough, "He doesn't need to stay with you."

Yoshitaka stopped dressing. "Are you rich suddenly?"

"What do you --?"

"Because I know that little brat isn't. And neither am I. Do you know how much a week in Tokyo costs?"

"I have a little money put away --"

"That you're saving so you can get out of that woman's house."

"It doesn't matter. I can always earn more. Besides, it's not that bad --"

"Look, I've seen strangers greet each other with more warmth than you and your step-mom. You've been saving that money since you became a pro. And since that brat suddenly decided to fly to Tokyo without a yen in his pocket or a courtesy call to you, he should damned well handle living in crowded quarters with me."

A startled laugh. "He's really not that bad, Waya, if you give him half a chance."

He started dressing again. "It's amazing, the people you're friends with."

He heard Isumi smile. "I'm friends with you."

Yoshitaka thought of pro exams and one long year of silence. "That's what I mean," he replied, only half-joking.

There was a pause, then quietly, "Waya?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He felt himself flush at the gratitude in Isumi's voice that came over even through the bad phone reception. "Hey," he replied, "just glad to help. God knows you don't ask often enough." He hastily pulled on a shirt, anxious to finish the conversation. "Look, I'll find the brat, get some breakfast into him, and we'll meet you at the Go Institute in two hours. Alright? Later."

He hung up the phone. Let out a deep breath, and winced. "God, I'm still hung-over," he muttered, and set off toward the baths to find one obnoxious, adolescent Chinese _go_ prodigy.

*

"Ow, ow, _ow_! Let go, you old fart!"

"Like hell I am, you little brat! Hand over that money!"

"Go suck a goat!"

"That's it! Tonight, you're sleeping on the balcony!"

"Isumi!" Le Ping suddenly shouted, craning his neck.

Yoshitaka looked up from his strangle hold on the boy to find Isumi staring at the two of them from the entrance of the Go Institute a meter away. "Am I...interrupting something?" Isumi asked uncertainly.

Yoshitaka gave Le Ping one last, infuriated noogie before releasing him. The boy stumbled upright with an emphatic Chinese oath. 

"He conned an old man out of 1000 yen," he told Isumi.

Isumi looked aghast. "Le Ping!"

"No con!" Le Ping immediately denied. Apparently, he lost much of his Japanese grammar with high passion. "Won! Fair!" He glared at Yoshitaka and rubbed his head. 

Yoshitaka glared back. "The old man asked if he was a pro," he explained to Isumi, "this little liar said no, and then they played a game, betting who would win."

"Asked if pro at this Institute!" Le Ping folded his arms. He smirked, " _Not_ this Institute."

Yoshitaka rolled his eyes skyward. "Whatever." He glanced around the bustling street and sighed. "Anyway, it's probably too late to find that old man. He left in a hurry afterwards."

"Umm, Waya?"

"What?"

"What were you doing while Le Ping played against the man?" Isumi asked curiously.

"He was chatting up a girl!" Le Ping answered gleefully.

Yoshitaka turned red. "I was _tutoring_ a girl."

"Oh," Le Ping grinned, "is that what you Japanese call it?"

"Apparently," Yoshitaka shot back, "I should have been babysitting you instead."

Le Ping scowled, grabbed Isumi's arm. "Come on, Isumi," he said, "let's go."

Isumi looked at Yoshitaka apologetically as Le Ping dragged him away. "I'll bring him around to your place at eight. Is that all right?"

He shrugged. "If I'm not back from the study group by then, just leave him on the doorstep. He could con a little old lady into taking him in."

Le Ping gave him the evil eye, and Yoshitaka heard Isumi laugh uncomfortably just before the two disappeared around the corner, with a Yoshitaka-looking Le Ping still pressed intimately against Isumi. The Chinese boy hadn't grown out of his disturbing likeness to Yoshitaka; in fact, he looked exactly as Waya Yoshitaka himself had at eighteen. 

Yoshitaka frowned, staring after them. Isumi was much too nice, he finally decided. Tonight, when Isumi brought Le Ping back, he was going to have a nice long chat with the brat on the merits of personal space. Then he put it out of his head as he ran to catch the bus taking him to Morishita-sensei's house.

Shindo, Saeki and the others in the study group greeted him boisterously when he arrived. Yoshitaka had missed the last two study sessions. "Nothing, it's nothing!" he grinned when they asked. "Just caught a cold."

As they laid out the latest of Shindo's games in the Ouza preliminaries for discussion, Morishita-sensei stepped into the room and, catching Yoshitaka's eye, nodded his head toward the hallway. "Waya, I need to speak to you."

Shindo glanced at him curiously, but Yoshitaka just shrugged and got up from his crouch. He followed his teacher into the hall, trying not to drag his feet. For his part, Morishita-sensei -- normally able to speak his mind without hesitation -- looked a little lost for words.

Yoshitaka cleared his throat. "Sir?"

"Her mother told me. Women, huh?" Morishita clapped him heavily on the shoulder. "Still, don't be a stranger, Waya. You're my student. Always will be." He stared hard at him. "So don't miss any more study sessions."

He bowed, sheepish but grateful. "Yes, sir."

The study group was still discussing the opening hand of the game when Yoshitaka rejoined it. He sat down just in time to see Saeki point out a rather dubious move of Shindo's. He agreed with Saeki, told Shindo so, and rolled his eyes with exasperated affection when Shindo proceeded to persuade them both on how egregiously wrong they were.

The study group ended in high spirits and just in time for dinner. Shindo and Yoshitaka were teased mercilessly when both their stomachs rumbled at the same time. Yoshitaka stayed behind a few minutes to clean up.

He met Morishita's daughter in the hall on the way out.

"Hey Waya," Morishita's daughter said.

Yoshitaka nodded at her. "Hey," he managed neutrally, and tried to pass her without touching.

"You doing all right?" she asked.

He felt himself stiffen. "Why wouldn't I?" He heard the heated accusation in his voice. He shook his head. "Look, forget it. You don't care. And me? I just want to get in and out of _sensei_ 's house without having to see or talk to you."

Her soft, moon face sort of melted into itself. "Right." Her voice quivered. It made Yoshitaka feel like the world's biggest jerk, and he had to remind himself of the last time she'd spoken to him.

"Yeah, good to hear we understand each other," he muttered and shoved past her.

Shindo was waiting at the door with his sneakers already on. Saeki and the others in the study group had already left. "Come on, Waya," Shindo said, "I'm starving."

"Wanna go with me to Shibuya afterwards?" Yoshitaka asked him as they exited through Morishita's front garden.

Shindo stared at him. "You want to go club hopping _tonight_?"

Yoshitaka shrugged. "Why not? It's not like we have any official games tomorrow."

"...true," Shindo conceded reluctantly. "But I'm meeting Touya at his salon tomorrow. And the last time I came over still hung-over, he slaughtered me on the board." And here Shindo grimaced, as if reliving the humiliation of that horrible occasion.

Yoshitaka slammed the garden gate behind them with more force than necessary. "Whatever, Shindo," he growled. "It's not like Touya Akira actually has to sweat in order to wipe your ass on the _goban_."

Shindo held up his hands. "Whoa," he said, sounding a little pissed off. "Waya, what the hell?"

"Sorry," Yoshitaka muttered. Then he sighed, shoved his fingers through his hair. "Look, ramen okay?" he offered in apology.

Shindo hesitated. "You paying?" he asked finally, smiling a little.

Yoshitaka chuckled. He guessed he owed Shindo that. "Sure."

"Hey, Waya," Shindo said later as they left the restaurant, "You should ask Isumi and his friend from China. Isumi's probably showing him around Tokyo anyway."

"Huh," Yoshitaka grunted thoughtfully.

*

"Waya, I'm not sure about this," Isumi protested. "Aren't I a little old to go?"

Yoshitaka grinned. Isumi had been going on in this vein for the past hour. "Relax," he repeated, "We're not going to a teenybopper place. No matter how it'll better suit the brat," he added, glancing at Le Ping standing on the other side of Isumi in the train compartment.

Le Ping rolled his eyes. "Whatever, old man. Who drank who under the table, anyway?" 

"Ever heard of fetal alcohol syndrome?" Yoshitaka retorted. But their jabs at each other were almost friendly now. Amazing how much camaraderie they'd achieved by having to cooperate in order to get Isumi onto public transportation in his clubbing get-up. Which, Yoshitaka grinned, didn't look too bad if he said so himself.

Isumi tugged again at the clinging black t-shirt. Absently, Yoshitaka noted that Isumi seemed to be in pretty good shape. The train pulled to a stop.

"Alright, guys. Off we go."

The club was just starting to fill up when they arrived. They managed to nab a booth overlooking the dance floor, and settled down for a few drinks. Yoshitaka flirted with the cute waitress, and considered asking for her number -- she looked like she would be amendable to the suggestion -- until she asked if this was a family outing. "You know, you and your brother," she smiled, nodded at Yoshitaka and Le Ping.

"No, just a man and one freak of nature," Yoshitaka muttered.

Le Ping jerked a thumb at Yoshitaka. "Yeah, and he's definitely the freaky one."

"They're actually not related," Isumi translated politely. "Two beers and a soda, please."

Le Ping pouted a bit when his soda arrived, and Yoshitaka smirked as Isumi told the boy that, no, he wasn't going to help him break the law again, once was more than enough. As Yoshitaka sipped his lukewarm beer, he glanced around their booth and noted how, like most good clubs, the ratio of women to men was skewed slightly toward the female side.

A group of freegirls with school skirts rolled up to their underwear and ankle-high white socks were loitering at the bar. With much giggling and furtive whispers, one of them detached herself from the group. The girl headed straight for them, blouse bobbing with every step. She smiled and stopped expectantly at their table. Yoshitaka smiled back at her: not exactly his type but, hey, he was willing to try anything once. Then she asked, "You boys have a two for one deal?"

Le Ping stared blankly. "What?" He clearly hadn't followed the girl's heavy Kanto slang, but Yoshitaka had. The aluminum beer can crumpled a bit beneath Yoshitaka's grip. Beside them, Isumi coughed, not quite managing to hide his laugh.

"I mean, do I get you both?" The girl winked at Yoshitaka and Le Ping. "Because I've always wanted to try twins."

"We. Are. Not. Related."

The girl raised both eyebrows at Yoshitaka's murderous tone. Then she tossed him a rude epithet and flounced back to her friends.

"Well, Waya," Isumi chuckled, "like you said, you really do have a way with women."

Yoshitaka sulked.

Le Ping tugged on Isumi's sleeve. "What did she say?" he demanded.

Yoshitaka tried not to notice when Isumi leaned toward the boy -- too close, mouth nearly brushing the boy's ear. He said something, what Yoshitaka didn't quite catch, the throbbing beat of the music drowning it out -- and Le Ping laughed. 

Feeling strange, Yoshitaka looked away. Isumi really is too nice, he thought, and distracted himself with the inviting smile of a pretty girl on the dance floor. By the time he swung back to their table, sweaty and triumphant with the girl's number, both Isumi and Le Ping had disappeared. Yoshitaka told himself not to think too much about it, drank his beer, danced with a few more girls, and then set off to relieve himself.

The dance floor was really livening by then and there wasn't anyone else in line for the single-stall men's room. Absently, he noted how the lock seemed to be broken, right before he pushed open the door.

At first he didn't realize what he was seeing.

Fingers scrambling on belt buckles and zippers. Little desperate gasps of air. "Wait -- wait --" Isumi, breathless. Hands under Le Ping's shirt, groin to groin.

"Shin'chiro," Le Ping breathed.

Yoshitaka slammed the door, his back hitting the wall of the hallway. The throbbing beat of the club music moved dizzyingly in his blood. He turned his face to the wall. A girl looked at him strangely as she passed him on the way out.

He blocked a spotty-face young man from entering the men's room. "No, sorry," he rasped, "stall's out of order." 

Well.

Well, he certainly wouldn't be having that chat with Le Ping about Isumi's personal space.

No point, apparently.

*

Le Ping dragged himself back to the apartment in the gray light of dawn. Yoshitaka let him in without a word and promptly fell back to sleep, defiantly not thinking about where the boy had most likely been. After sticking a hastily-made 'Out of Order' sign on the bathroom door, he had left a message on Isumi's cell about going back first. He had gone to sleep early.

He woke up to the feeling of being watched.

Opening his eyes, he saw Le Ping staring down at him from the futon. "Hey," the boy greeted him.

"Oh god," Yoshitaka groaned, rubbing his face. "Why aren't you asleep?"

The boy shrugged. "Couldn't."

More light came through the window and Yoshitaka blinked, getting a better look at Le Ping's face. He raised himself on his elbow. "Were you crying?" he asked blankly.

Le Ping scrubbed his eyes viciously. "No," he muttered. "Just some lingering smoke from the club."

"Oh. Okay." They stared at each other. "Umm," Yoshitaka said finally, telling himself he should try to be cordial to Isumi's -- boyfriend? lover? _geezus_ \-- whatever. "Did you need something?"

"I know you saw us," Le Ping said. "Isumi didn't, but I did."

Yoshitaka winced at the sudden Surround-Sound, Technicolor recollection that flashed in his mind. "Hold on," he muttered, holding up a hand. "I can't handle this conversation sober."

"In fact," he continued, uncapping one of the bottles left from their last binge, "Why are you even talking to me about this?"

Le Ping grabbed a bottle for himself without asking. He didn't drink though. Instead he scowled down at the bottle, his fingers white around its neck. "I like Isumi," he said, as though that was the answer to Yoshitaka's question. He looked up at Yoshitaka, eyes fierce. "Do you?"

Yoshitaka hesitated, not sure where this question was leading and more than a little taken aback by it. "Sure. Not like you, obviously," Yoshitaka added hastily. "But, yeah, I like him too." He paused. "He's like the brother I never got."

"A brother, huh?" Le Ping muttered and, before Yoshitaka's wide eyes, raised the bottle to his mouth and emptied it in one go without pausing for breath. "Yeah, that's what he said too."

Yoshitaka was wary. "About me?"

Le Ping sighed. "About _me_." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I like Isumi," he stated again, vehemently. Then his voice quieted, "I really, really like him." The words seemed to have become some sort of a mantra.

"Yeah," Yoshitaka grimaced. God, he hoped Le Ping didn't start rhyming too. He took a medicinal swig of his beer. "I get it." _Brothers?_ What the hell was Le Ping going on about? "Look," he said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to barge in on you two like that, if that's why you're talking to me."

He tried hard not to think about friends and pro exams and the different ways one could fail.

He realized his bottle had suddenly emptied and reached for another.

Le Ping shook his head sadly. "I thought being eighteen would finally stop him seeing me as a little kid," he muttered. "That he'd stop pu-pushing me away."

Le Ping's words had started to slur. Yoshitaka suspected suddenly that the boy was already drunk. "I'm drunk," Le Ping said, confirming it, as he stared at the empty bottle in his hand.

"How are you drunk after one lousy beer?" Yoshitaka demanded as he uncapped a second bottle: he still held onto the fond hope that this entire night would be obliviated in an alcohol-induced amnesia. "You drank me under the table that first night!"

"Oh, I poured most of it on the plant." Le Ping waved a hand at the potted azalea beside the window. "You were soused enough by then to not notice."

"You little brat," he swore, but mostly without heat, and laughed. The azalea had been a gift from Morishita's daughter on their last anniversary: he'd tried to kill it with neglect for weeks; he hadn't tried pouring beer on it though.

Le Ping half-grinned and shrugged. "I'll send you a new plant."

"From Beijing?" Yoshitaka scoffed, and resolutely downed the rest of his second bottle. "Just get me a new one the next time you come to Tokyo."

There was a long silence from the corner in which Le Ping had slumped. "I don't know when I'd come to Japan again," Le Ping finally said, barely audible. 

And as Yoshitaka was still blinking at that, Le Ping continued quietly, "Look too much like you, that's what he said...that it wouldn't be fair...to either of us."

Yoshitaka stared at the wall, suddenly all too sober.

"What?"

_I look too much like you._

From Le Ping's corner, no reply except the clink of another bottle being opened.

"What?" Yoshitaka repeated.

o o o

The first time Isumi had disappeared off to China, Yoshitaka didn't find out until half a month later.

"Didn't he tell you?" Isumi's father had asked when Yoshitaka had knocked on his door for his son.

At the time, he had stared at the tired, balding middle-aged man in front of him. "No, sir," he'd managed to answer, "he didn't." Yoshitaka didn't say, _Actually, sir, I haven't spoken to your son in nearly a year..._

_I haven't spoken to him since I passed the pro exams._

He'd taken two buses to get back to his apartment building, and had missed his stop both times.

He was a coward. Yoshitaka knew that. He should have gone to see Isumi that night after the pro exams. They were friends; he had owed Isumi that. Even if Isumi would have slammed the door in his face, refused to see him...

But even as Yoshitaka thought of all the different ways Isumi could have reacted, he realized that no matter how much the Isumi would have wanted to kick him out into the rain, it would never have happened.

No. Instead, the real Isumi -- the Isumi who tightly locked away all vulnerable emotions, who locked away his anger, his fear, and anything possibly offensive -- would most likely have congratulated him on passing, then kindly invited him in to dry himself, and all the while, neither of them would acknowledge the ugly truth -- that of the two of them, the better _go_ player was not the one who had become a pro.

He had stayed away rather than face that.

The life of a new pro had been busy, and exciting, and _new_...And it had been all too easy to let things slide. By the time he had found himself missing his friend, he and Isumi had stopped being friends for months.

That was what Yoshitaka had realized as he boarded the bus that took him away from Isumi's house.

*

Of course, eventually Isumi came back to Japan. He passed the pro exam and they began speaking to each other again. They even went out a few times to their old stomping grounds, playing tournament games against the amateurs.

But it wasn't the same.

Something -- a trust perhaps -- had shattered and no amount of gentle teasing and tournament games could fix it.

o o o

Days after he got desperately drunk with Le Ping, he bumped into Isumi at the Go Institute.

Isumi smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry about dropping Le Ping on you like that," he said to Yoshitaka. "A family matter came up unexpectedly that I had to take care of."

He stared hard at Isumi. He hadn't realized before how well Isumi lied. "Right," he said.

Isumi suddenly looked concerned. "It...wasn't too difficult was it? Taking him to the airport?"

"No. Oh, by the way, Le Ping said he'd wait for your visit to Beijing this summer."

"Did he?"

Well, not exactly.

'I'm not giving up,' the boy had told Yoshitaka before boarding the tram to the airport. Tenacity, thy name is Le Ping. Yoshitaka had believed him.

"Yeah," Yoshitaka said. "He said that."

Isumi's shook his head slowly, his eyes unfocusing. "Summer is a long way off," he said quietly, "As a pro, he should know how schedules change."

_It's not me he wants,_ Le Ping had whispered drunkenly.

"Why don't you come over to my place this afternoon?" Yoshitaka said suddenly. "We haven't gotten together lately." 

Isumi shook his head. "I'm sorry, Waya. I'm a little busy. Besides," he smiled, "We'll see each other at Shindo's study group tomorrow anyway."

"Right. Of course."

_You're wrong, Le Ping. It's not me that he wants either._

But then Waya Yoshitaka had already known that.

They parted and each took their separate places at the _dan_ games.

*

"Oh, Waya. What are you doing here?"

He blinked. "Uh, the Thursday session I have with _sensei_ every week."

Mrs. Morishita smiled at him, puzzled. "But it's the first of the month."

Morishita-sensei went fishing this day every month, Yoshitaka suddenly remembered.

"Oh," he said weakly, "that's right." He didn't know how he could have forgotten.

He tried to leave as quickly as possible, without meeting anyone -- but she was already waiting for him in the front garden.

She was leaning against the persimmon tree, in a soft, white sweater and with her dark hair falling over her eyes -- and for a moment Yoshitaka saw themselves at seventeen, eighteen, embracing beneath the fruiting persimmon tree, her mouth soft and shy beneath his.

He turned wordlessly and started walking toward the gate.

"Go ahead and run."

Her soft voice froze his feet to the flagstone path.

"You always run when things get messy," she murmured.

He couldn't move, and she didn't come any closer. Just her voice, quiet, sure and as pitiless as her father's _go_.

"You know, you weren't a good boyfriend, Waya. You're fun and I liked being around you." A small, sad laugh. "But...you definitely weren't a good boyfriend. You weren't even a very good friend.

"Friends are there when things get difficult."

Her voice fell even quieter.

"But you never were."

He hated her then. He hadn't really, not even after she'd dumped him. But right then, he realized how fiercely he hated her. For a lot of reasons, actually, but mainly one: because she was right.

The realization didn't stop him from walking through the gate without a word. 

*

"It's so nice to have you over for dinner. You don't come nearly enough, Yoshitaka. But so suddenly and on a weekday too...Is something the matter? Did you run out of clean underwear? No? Oh, well, it's nice you decided to visit. But my goodness, next time try to call ahead of time -- it takes a little more cooking for three instead of just myself and your dad. Oh, and you should bring Shigeko too, Yoshitaka. We haven't seen her in so long, isn't that right dear?"

His dad nodded absently, eyes on the newspaper.

Yoshitaka suddenly lost his appetite. He put down his bowl and said something.

"What was that?" his mom frowned.

"We broke up," he repeated.

His mom's chopsticks paused in her rice. "Oh. Well," she said finally, "always knew you couldn't hold onto a girl like that. You're not exactly reliable, son. You can be such a little boy at times -- Waya Yoshitaka! Where are you going --?"

o o o

He stood at the bus stop, staring at the cell phone in his hand.

He dialed Isumi's residence. Isumi's father picked up.

"Oh, Waya, hello. No, Isumi's not here. He said not to wait dinner for him, that he was studying with friends."

Waya rang off, distracted, and stared blindly at the smiling girl posing in the advertisement before him. He'd already tried Isumi's cell and Isumi wasn't answering. He thought hard.

Half an hour later, he pushed open the door of a small, dingy _go_ salon on the outskirts of the city. There weren't that many people; he spotted Isumi seated by himself at one of the three occupied tables. Yoshitaka paid the half-asleep cashier and, walking all the way to the back of the salon, took the seat opposite of Isumi. He waited for Isumi to notice. It took longer than it should have.

"Waya?" Isumi's eyes widened in surprise; his fingers finally stilled on the _go_ board. "Why are you here? How did you know --"

"Do you remember how we met?"

Isumi stared at him, looking bewildered by the sudden and strange inquiry into their shared history. But he played along. "Uh, of course," he smiled a little. "We were _insei_..."

Yoshitaka looked down at the table. He kept his eyes focused on the board before him and not Isumi. "Yeah, I was the new kid, still in grade-school. Didn't know a soul. Then at my first game, I met you."

"You weren't shy either," Isumi interrupted wryly. "That day during lunch you reintroduced yourself and then dragged me off to Mos Burger with you." 

Yoshitaka almost smiled. "You were nice," he recollected, "and I didn't have any money."

Isumi laughed softly. "I'd always suspected."

He picked up a stone, studied it, and then carefully put it back on the board. He commented, "We've known each other, been friends, for half our lives."

"That's true," Isumi agreed quietly. Yoshitaka could feel Isumi's eyes on him.

"Le Ping told me," he finally said. "About you and him. And me."

"Ah." Isumi response was amazingly non-committal. Then he heard Isumi get up, move across the room. He didn't even bother to clear the board.

Yoshitaka followed Isumi out of the salon. At the bus stop, the same one he'd gotten off at, he sat down on the bench beside Isumi. The early-October night air blew down the deserted street, nipped at his ears and nose. Isumi didn't seem to feel the cold, wearing only a light summer jacket and sitting with his head bowed over his loosely clasped hands.

Yoshitaka watched Isumi's back. He swallowed, asked, "Do you really think I'm that much of an asshole? Is that why you didn't say anything?"

Isumi spoke without looking up. "Le Ping was confused. I told him I didn't see him that way -- he was too young -- that he was like a brother to me, just like you are. And somehow," he laughed a little, flatly, "he fixed into his head the notion that I harbored a hidden passion for you." He spoke with such perfect calm that Yoshitaka wanted to believe him. "He really is very young," he repeated softly.

Yoshitaka stared at his friend, heard the peculiar softness of those last words. So. He was right, and Le Ping, wrong. For some reason, it made him feel strangely hollow. Be the friend this time, he told himself. Stop running.

He leaned back against the bench, stared at the empty road before him. "Old enough," he said. "Old enough to buy a one-way ticket to Tokyo, to know what he wants and to go after it with all he has." He laughed a little. "God knows I'm not the brat's biggest fan, but --" He glanced beside him, straight at a surprised Isumi. "-- he has balls, I'll give him that." He grinned bitterly. "Bigger balls than either of us."

"You're not making sense, Waya."

"Aren't I? Remember that year before you passed the pro exams? You were my closest friend. And though I was _your_ closest friend, you couldn't talk to me. Me, because I was afraid to face you after. You, because..." He paused, continued in a quieter voice, "Actually, I don't think you ever let anyone too close to you. That way they can't disappoint you. That way you can come back from China and still talk to me like I hadn't tossed you out the airlock at the time you most needed a friend."

"Waya," Isumi sounded extremely disquieted. "That isn't true." But something in his voice -- a hesitation too long, perhaps -- dug deep into Yoshitaka's chest.

Yoshitaka clenched his hands in his lap. "Isumi," he said, "why did you lie to Le Ping?"

"I didn't --"

"I saw you two, you know," Yoshitaka interrupted, "in the bathroom stall -- you should be more careful about locks, by the way. What you two were doing didn't look brotherly to me."

Isumi's cheeks flushed. "No, that wasn't -- Waya --"

"Now I realize why he was such a brat ever since I've known him. That drinking contest the first night at my place? Stereotypical jealous fit -- what have you been telling the poor kid, Isumi? Anyway, the prize obviously was you. I didn't realize at the time, of course, and anyway I lost, so the point is moot --"

Isumi was bright red with mortification. "W-waya --" he stammered.

Yoshitaka clapped his hands on his thighs. "So maybe you really are confused, since Le Ping and I look so much alike." He shrugged, fake nonchalant. "But actually, it's simple. The difference between brotherly love and the non-brotherly variety, that is. For example --"

"What --"

He caught Isumi by surprise. His mouth landed on Isumi's -- more by luck than by direction.

It was like kissing a mannequin.

Some perverse reflex kept his lips pressed against Isumi's for another heartbeat. Nothing changed. When he drew back, the first thing he saw were Isumi's wide eyes. His chest tightened. "Yeah," he said loudly, "That's what I thought." He punched Isumi in the arm. "Now stop using me for an excuse. I really don't want to have to kiss you again."

Isumi unfroze; he looked like he didn't know whether to deck him or laugh. "A demonstration?" he asked, incredulous.

Yoshitaka shrugged. "This way you get a comparison: kissing Le Ping versus kissing me. I figured it'd help in the future, when you decide to use me to cut yourself off from your boyfriend." He added pointedly, "I know his Japanese isn't that bad."

For a long moment, Isumi stared at him, his body unbelievably rigid, and Yoshitaka wondered if Isumi actually would deck him this time --

\-- He thought he was going to be sick, like fist had been shoved hard below his ribs. _But I'm not running away this time_ , he thought.

\-- Right before Isumi slumped against the bench, like someone had abruptly taken the ruler away from his backside. He turned his face away, covered it with his hand.

Isumi spoke. "When did you become such a good arm-chair psychiatrist, Waya?" 

Despite the roughness in his voice, Yoshitaka heard something in it that was both intangible but reassuring.

They were going to be all right.

Yoshitaka slumped back on the bench, staring over the rooftop above which he could see the neon glow that lit the busier part of Tokyo. "Don't expect it to be a regular thing," he muttered. Instead of the triumph of being right, he felt drained and little hollow. _It's enough,_ he told himself.

"Thank goodness for that." He heard the smile, however faint, in Isumi's voice.

They stayed like that -- seated, side by side, on the bench, without looking at each other -- for a long time. But this time the stillness was not oppressive: it merely seemed recuperative and contemplative.

"He really is too young," Isumi finally said ruefully. His shoulder leaned against Yoshitaka's.

Yoshitaka pressed back lightly. "He'll grow up. We all do," he said. "But I don't think he'll grow out of you."

"Why do you say that?" he asked quietly, but Yoshitaka heard the need for reassurance in his voice.

"Because you're a good person," Yoshitaka said simply. "Because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you don't know how wonderful you are. Not mention you play a mean game of _go_." He quirked a smile. "In a way, I'm kinda envious of Le Ping. Makes me wish you'd been born a girl," he finished mischievously.

Isumi laughed softly.

"Waya?"

"Yeah?

A hand covered his. Yoshitaka turned to see Isumi smiling softly at him. "Thank you." A teasing glint appeared in Isumi's eyes. "Not many guys are willing to kiss their male friends just to win an argument."

Yoshitaka placed his other hand over Isumi's and squeezed it briefly. "Not just any friend," he grinned crookedly.

And as they stared at each other, maybe they held hands a little longer than necessary.

Yoshitaka let go first and stood up. 

"For example, Isumi," Yoshitaka continued as they walked down the street, "I wouldn't give Shindo a peck on the cheek even if someone offered me a billion yen."

Isumi's knowing laugh. "What did you two bet on this time?"

"He makes the most ridiculous conditions! I mean, where do you even _find_ a duck suit?"

"I don't think it's that bad. Didn't you make him wear a purple dinosaur suit to the last Honinbo game?"

"I was kidding! How was I to know he'd take me seriously? I mean -- he was playing against _Ogata_! No one _sane_ wears a purple dinosaur suit to face Ogata!"

"You know, Waya, _Weekly Go_ had always speculated that it was the indignity of playing face to furry, purple snout that finally undid Ogata's three-year Honinbo reign."

"Oh man, if looks could kill -- some people just can't take a joke. But you know, I never got why Touya Akira thanked me afterwards, something about Shindo finally shutting up --"

As they turned the corner together, the empty street echoed with Yoshitaka's exasperated voice and Isumi's laughter.


End file.
